


Fills for The Hobbit Kink Meme

by NammiKisulora



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: ALL THE DURIN FAMILY FEELS, Angst, Battle of Five Armies, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I am evil, M to be supersafe because it's a little gory...?, M/M, Memories, Sibling Incest, Spoilers, Thorin loves his nephews, Uncle Thorin, bb!Fíli, bb!Kíli, prepare to cry..., would probably pass as T
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-27 20:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NammiKisulora/pseuds/NammiKisulora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My Kink Meme filling virginity now taken, I will post my fills here.</p><p>Chapter 1: Playing with Kili's hair makes him sleepy, 3+1 (T, gen)<br/>Chapter 2: Thorin's happiest memories (M, gen)<br/>Chapter 3: "You'll be the death of me", 8+1 (T, Fíli/Kíli)<br/>Chapter 4: Dwalin grieves for Fíli and Kíli (T, gen)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Playing with Kíli's hair makes him sleepy, 3+1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, and by a non-native English speaker. Please do not judge too harshly!
> 
> Spoilers for the end of the book!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The [prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=7500099#t7500099/) was: "Playing with Kili's hair makes him sleepy."
> 
> It began as a fluffy mini-fill, but grew into this; a fluffy, angsty and sad 3+1 fill, with 3 times someone played with Kíli’s hair to calm him down and make him sleep, and 1 time he did the same for someone else.
> 
> Also, my first fill for The Hobbit Kink Meme!

**I  
**

 

Kíli cries and cries, much more than Fíli ever did as an infant, and Dís is on the verge of tears herself from the exhaustion from carrying him in endless circles around the room, rocking him and singing softly about the days of old, but nothing seems to be able to quieten him.

 

“Whatever should I do with you, Kíli?” she murmurs as she hugs him to her chest and caresses the tuft of dark hair that sticks out in every direction on his head. The cries change into a sniffling whimper, and Dís stops walking in surprise. She strokes his hair again, following the shape of his head with her fingers, and she breathes a sigh of relief as a yawn replaces the whimpering. “So that is your secret, little one”, she whispers as she resumes her pacing, continuing to caress and play with dark strands of her son’s fine hair.

 

Soon his breathing evens out, and he snuffles contentedly and makes sucking motions with his tiny mouth as he slips into an infant’s dream of mother’s milk and comfort. Dís sinks down on her bed with her eyes closed, finally relaxing as she leans back against the pillows. She continues to softly stroke Kíli’s hair until she too succumbs to sleep, still cradling her son close to her chest and with a tender smile playing on her lips.

 

**II**

 

Fíli is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, and Thorin softly kisses his forehead before turning his attention to Kíli, who is sitting up his in bed, excitedly chattering about everything he’s seen during the day. Thorin sits down on the edge of his bed and pushes him into lying position with a hand on his chest.

 

“Shh, Kíli, sleep”, he whispers as he threads his fingers through his youngest nephew’s dark hair.

 

“But Uncle, Uncle – “ Kíli attempts to sit up but is held back by Thorin’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

 

“Sleep, little one.” He strokes the dwafling’s cheek and lets a strand of his hair slide between his fingers. Kíli yawns and rubs his eye sleepily.

 

“But…” Thorin continues stroking his hair as he continues to protest more and more weakly, his eyes slowly falling shut until his excited breathing turns into the soft snuffling of sleep. He caresses the dark locks one last time and swipes his thumb over his nephew’s rosy cheek before leaning down to place a soft kiss on his temple. “Sleep well, little one”, he murmurs, then gets up and quietly leaves the room, leaving a small crack in the door.

 

 

**III**

 

“I thought I had lost you, brother”, Kíli whimpers into Fíli’s shoulder and clings tightly to him as they settle down to sleep in the cave. Fíli hugs him back and rests his cheek on the top of his brother’s head.

 

“I’m fine, Kí”, he whispers, relishing the closeness of his brother as he tries not to think about the terrible minutes they were separated during the thunder battle, when he had been torn between relief that Kíli was among the safer ones in the company, and horror; both at being apart from his brother and at what seemed to be a sure death as they hurtled towards the hard, unforgiving cliff.

 

“I was so scared, Fí.” Fíli buries his nose in his brother’s hair and holds him tighter as Kíli sniffles, the tears he tries-to-but-can’t hold back wets Fíli’s neck. “Promise you won’t ever leave me!” He pulls back and meets Fíli’s eyes, his expression more open and vulnerable than it has been in years, and for once his eyes do not sparkle with pride or mischief. Right now, all he is is a young dwarf who’s frightened at the thought of losing his brother; his lower lip trembling and tears staining his cheeks.

 

“I won’t, I promise”, Fíli says, brushing a few wayward strands of hair out of Kíli’s eyes. “Try to sleep now. I’m right here, I won’t be going anywhere.”

 

Kíli nods and they lie down, Kíli with his back pressed against Fíli’s chest and his head resting on his outstretched arm, his body shaking with the occasional sob and sniffle that he fails to supress. Fíli burrows his nose into Kíli’s hair, breathing in his familiar scent as he murmurs comforting nonsense to him, and begins to play with his hair with his free hand.

 

“Shh, Kí, I’m here, we’re fine, we’ll be fine, I’m right here”, he whispers as he alters between softly stroking and threading his fingers through the dark, tangled strands, until Kíli’s breathing evens out and the sobs are replaced with quiet snores.

 

 

**1**

 

Kíli stumbles to his knees beside the still body of his brother, carelessly flinging his sword to the side as he strokes Fíli’s cheek with one hand, wiping away the trickle of blood running from his mouth and fumbles over his bleeding shoulder, the arrow in his chest and the gaping wound in his side with the other.

 

“No”, he whispers brokenly, “no, no, NO!” He lies down next to his brother, a sharp groan escaping him as the movement pulls on a deep wound in his own side. “Fíli… Fí… wake up, please…” He sobs with relief as Fíli turns his head at the sound of his voice and blinks sluggishly.

 

“Kíli”, he mumbles, his voice breathless and weak, “it hurts.” The words are slow and slurred, and Kíli presses his face against his uninjured shoulder, starting to cry in earnest. He feels Fíli shake as a sob escapes him too, followed by a whimper of pain. “’m scared.”

 

All Kíli wants to do is cry ‘ _me too, Fí, and I want you to hold me and say that everything will be alright again_ ’, but draws a trembling breath instead, then raises his head and tries to catch his brother’s gaze; but Fíli’s eyes have drifted half-shut and flits unfocusedly over his face, unable to stay fixed on anything.

 

“Fíli, no!” Kíli blinks back a fresh wave of tears and bites his lip to regain control of himself, ignoring the pain in his side and how tired he feels; this time it is he who has to be strong for Fíli.

 

“’s cold an’ ‘m scare’, Kí…” He coughs feebly, more blood bubbling up between his lips and trickling down his cheek. Kíli closes his eyes and allows his head to fall onto Fíli’s shoulder, and brings a trembling hand to his brother’s matted and blood-soaked hair, fingers ghosting over his temple before tangling in the dull, once-golden snarls.

 

“’s alright”, he murmurs as he tries to thread his fingers through Fíli’s hair without tugging and hurting him even more, “’i’ ‘ll be ‘right, Fí…” His limbs feel so heavy and he can’t muster the energy to open his eyes, instead using his last strength to continue stroking Fíli’s hair, but he can feel that soon he won’t be able to do that either…

 

Fíli’s breath rattles a final time and his body tenses for a second before going limp.

 

“Fí…” Kíli breathes, but there is no answer this time, no Fíli to smile and reassure him.

 

_You promised not to leave me_ , he thinks as his hand finally falls from his brother’s hair to rest on his chest with its palm open towards the sky like a question or a prayer, as the youngest heir of Durin lets go to follow his brother.


	2. Thorin's happiest memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=6897731#t6897731/): "I would like a scene in which Thorin is seriously injured and everyone gathers around him and wants to help. Maybe it's Gandalf who tries to heal him but Thorin has to stay awake, so he asks him to tell his happiest memory of all.
> 
> The others expect some early memory of Erebor, but when Thorin starts to talk all feverish it is a memory of his nephews when they were little dwarflings back in Ered-Luin and saw their first real snow. Maybe they were so in awe and laughing and started to scuffle with him in the snow and it warmed his heart like it never did before.
> 
> alternatively he's dying and it is the last thing he thinks of (DO I REALLY WANT THAT. I'M ALREADY CRYING WITH ONLY THINKING OF IT...)"
> 
> Kind of, at least. The prompt ran away with me...
> 
> CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE BOOK!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd and I intend to look over it again soon, to see if it needs any editing...

Thorin cries out with the pain as he hits the ground, and the impact drives the orcish spear that pierced his armour and body just below the ribs of his left side, finally causing him to fall, deeper into him. He clutches at the shaft and struggles to rise to his knees, but the pain of moving and shifting the spear makes his vision go black and he crashes to the ground again with another anguished yell as shockwaves of pain tear through him.

 

_He gently blows on four-year-old Fíli’s scraped knee as the dwarfling cries loudly, and cradles him close to his chest, murmuring comforting nonsense in his ear..._

 

The battle-fury blocking out all pain suddenly leaving him, he feels the ache and burn of every cut and bruise he has sustained without noticing it in the battle, too consumed with his mad charge through the enemy ranks to reach Bolg son of Azog, and make his revenge complete.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes between clenched teeth against the pain, the clamour and screams from the battle fading into the background until a familiar voice cuts through it in a panicked cry.

 

“Thorin, NO!”

 

_“It’s a boy, Thorin, strong and healthy!”_

_He takes the tiny bundle from Balin almost reverently and meets his sister’s tired yet happy eyes for a moment before looking down at the squirming dwarfling in his arms. Its –_ his _– face is red and wrinkled and crowned with a tuft of golden hair, and though his eyes are squeezed shut at first he opens them when Thorin touches his cheek with a finger, and as their eyes meet the babe reminds him so strongly of Frerin that it makes his throat close up and his eyes fill with tears of emotion; and he is the most beautiful thing Thorin has ever laid eyes on._

_“Fíli”, Dís says quietly from the bed, “I want to call him Fíli.”_

_Thorin can only smile softly and nod, all his attention still turned toward_ Fíli _, who has stopped squirming in his arms and calmly look back into his eyes…_

 

“UNCLE!”

 

He opens his eyes, and turning his head towards the voice he sees Fíli running towards him, pale and wide-eyed with fear, his face spattered with dark orc blood, and Kíli

 

_as dark as Fíli is fair, Thorin sees himself and Dís in his youngest nephew’s face but for his dark eyes he has from his father, and as he holds him for the first time, Thorin thinks that Fíli for the first time has got a rival in both preciousness and beauty, and his heart aches with love for them both_

 

is not far behind. A mix of fear and pride fills Thorin at the sight of them, mingling with the pain, and he hates his weakness, the wounds that prevent him from fighting at their side, and the stubborn arrogance that caused them. Then suddenly all he feels is icy dread as Fíli, now only a short distance away and with his mind only on reaching his uncle, fails to notice the goblin archer Thorin sees aiming for him, and –

 

“Fíli, look out!” he screams, but

 

_Fíli’s first smile is directed at him, toothless and wide, and he fears he might burst with love and happiness_

 

his warning comes too late, the arrow hitting its mark and sinking deep into the left side of Fíli’s chest just as he turns to look, and Thorin screams as he falls, a jumbled litany of “Fíli, Fíli, no, no, NO” mixed with wordless grief.

 

Heedless of his own injuries he struggles to stand again, to get to Fíli’s side, and manages to rise to his knees far before his vision blackens and the cry of grief turns into a roar of pain as the spear in his side shifts and weighs him down. He falls onto his side, and feels the spear’s edges cut into his insides, slash him open, and the pain grows unbearable as Kíli skids to his knees at his brother’s body, screaming his name over and over, and Thorin’s world blurs and distorts, Kíli’s screams becoming

 

_light, childish laughter, and shouts of “Fí! Fí! Snow!” as he and his brother, two tiny dwarflings now, play with each other in the new-fallen snow as Thorin smiles contentedly as he watches them, sitting on a bench next to the door._

_“Yes, Kí, snow!” Fíli shouts back and throws handfuls of it into the air, laughing as Kíli spreads his tiny arms and tries to catch it, squealing as he fails and it lands on his face instead, melting on his cheeks and catching in his eyelashes._

_“Snow!” he cries again, giggling in excitement over his new word, and when Fíli dives headfirst into a pile of snow with a shriek of glee and pure delight, Thorin cannot help but laugh with them, his heart swelling with joy at the sight of them_

 

broken sobs

 

_so happy and carefree_

 

as he leans over his brother’s lifeless body, resting his forehead on his chest, and Thorin’s heart breaks as the world clears around him, only to blur again a moment later as his eyes fill with tears of grief and helplessness.

 

“Kíli”, he tries to shout but it only comes out as a choked sob, and Kíli is

 

_smiling at him, dark eyes shining and his little mouth wide open, showing off all five of his teeth, and Thorin sweeps him into his arms with a laugh, lifting him high, high, spinning him around and making him squeal with delight_

 

too far away to hear him of the noise of the battle.

 

He tries to lift his arm, to at least reach out to his nephew, but he finds he cannot move, he is too tired, his limbs too heavy, and then

 

_Fíli is running towards him, arms outstretched and smiling, shouting “Me too, Uncle ‘Rin, lift me too!”, and Thorin settles Kíli securely in the crook of one arm and sweeps Fíli into an embrace with the other, spinning them around so both boys shriek and giggle with excitement_

 

a passing orc astride a huge warg brings down his mace over the back of Kíli’s bowed neck with a sickening crunch that Thorin knows he cannot possibly have heard but turns his stomach anyway, making him retch, and Kíli

 

_wraps his chubby arms around Thorin’s neck and buries his sticky face in the crook of his neck_

 

collapses over Fíli’s body, blood pouring forth, mingling with his brother’s,

 

_saying “I love you, Udcle ‘Rin!”, and Thorin loves him so much it hurts_

 

and doesn’t move again.

 

Thorin closes his eyes with moan of grief and despair, his heart feeling empty and cold where his nephews used to glow so brightly, and wills the end to just _come_ , all light and warmth gone from the world, leaving only pain and grief in its wake…

 

Too slowly he sinks into the oblivion of senselessness, but when he does he welcomes the darkness and what greets him beyond.

 

_“Uncle! Uncle! Today we went to –“_

_“ – the forest with Mister Dwalin, and, and –“_

_“ – he taught me how to catch a fish, and –“_

_Thorin looks at them, and thinks that this is how happiness and contentment must feel, and smiles gently at them, his eyes brimming with tears of joy as he listens to their mindless chatter._

_Happiness and contentment, yes, and so much love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I'm sorry!


	3. "You'll be the death of me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The [prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?thread=8068163#t8290883/) was: Fili/Kili or gen, foreshadowing: "You'll be the death of me".
> 
> I took the Fíli/Kíli route, but it is only very briefly mentioned.  
> Kind of a mini-fill, in 8+1 form. I don't know, really.

**i**

 

“You’ll be the death of me!” he yells in childish adolescent anger and slams the door shut in his brother’s face; then starts to pace around the room, feeling trapped, and curse his brother’s existence.

 

 

**ii**

 

“You’ll be the death of me”, he laughs drunkenly as they flee, stumbling and failing to steady each other, from the tavern, the owner’s curses following them as they run.

 

 

**iii**

 

“You’ll be the death of me”, he breathes into his brother’s hair as he thrusts into him, tight heat and sweat on heated skin and their quick, heavy breathing all that exist and matter in the world.

 

 

**iv**

 

“You’ll be the death of me”, he says as they set out together toward the Shire, the first stop on their uncle’s great quest to regain Erebor, the lost kingdom of their people.

 

 

**v**

 

“You’ll be the death of me”, he snaps when their uncle finally has run out of harsh words to describe their failure to manage the simple task of watching their ponies, and then their utter idiocy in handling the situation with the trolls.

 

 

**vi**

 

“You’ll be the death of me”, he whispers brokenly as he hugs his brother tight in the cave after the thunder battle, still terrified from almost losing him forever, regardless of his warm, solid embrace and murmured words of comfort.

 

 

**vii**

 

“You’ll be the death of me”, he mutters after just managing to stop his brother from tumbling headfirst into the enchanted river of Mirkwood and turning into Mahal-knows-what, though it might actually have been an improvement.

 

 

**viii**

 

“You’ll be the death of me”, he sighs as he hugs his brother after finally finding him in the darkness of the tunnel, equally annoyed at him not having sense enough to stay close, as relieved at having found him.

 

 

**I**

 

He cradles his brother, already still and lifeless, with no more breath leaving his lungs, in his arms as he lies dying on the battlefield; and just before he too leaves this world, he chokes,

 

 “I told you you’d be the death of me.”


	4. Dwalin grieves for Fíli and Kíli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=9123605#t9123605/): "After Thorin falls at the BotFA, Dwalin grieves briefly because, despite losing his oldest and dearest friend, he knows that Thorin died as a warrior with Erebor finally reclaimed as he had intended.
> 
> However, once he finds out that Fili and Kili didn't survive, he completely breaks down. He helped Thorin raise them and they were practically like sons/nephews to him and he can't bear the thought that they died so young."
> 
> No backstory included, but basically that.

He is the one who carries Thorin from the battlefield. His king is still breathing then, but Dwalin knows that with wounds like that, he will not live to see the sun set.

 

He leaves the tent with a heavy heart, the grave faces and mournful headshakes of the healers only confirming what he already knows. Outside he stops for a moment, forcing himself to breath deeply until the tears burning behind his eyes no longer threaten to fall; the time for grief will come, but right now there is too much to do to succumb to it. He roughly rubs a hand over his face and then returns to the battlefield, to keep helping to bring back the dead and wounded.

 

It is many hours later when he finally gets the chance to return to Thorin’s tent, and there his brother greets him with red-rimmed eyes and tears still falling into his beard.

 

Thorin is dead.

 

For a few silent minutes, Dwalin rests forehead against his brother’s, once again sharing the pain of loss with him.

 

“He died as a warrior and a king”, he says when they part. Then a thought strikes him. “So Fíli is King under the Mountain now?”

 

The way Balin looks away and says nothing tells him everything.

 

“No…”

 

~*~*~

 

They are so pale under the blood and grime covering their faces, and so still. Fíli’s hair is tangled and matted with blood, and the broken shaft of an orcish arrow still protrudes from his heart; it is the only serious injury he has, but he must have died almost immediately, Dwalin thinks in an attempt to distance himself from the situation by clinically assessing it. But for the unnatural paleness and stillness, one could think he merely was asleep.

 

That cannot be said about Kíli. Dwalin has been in more skirmishes and battles than he can count, and seen the gruesome deaths of more dwarves, and elves and men, than he cares to remember, and it has been long since the sight of blood and injuries affected him; yet the sight of the young prince’s head resting at an unnatural angle that clearly speaks of a broken neck makes his stomach turn.

 

“They were hardly more than children”, he chokes out, swallowing and breathing deeply. “They had no place in war!” His voice breaks and a sob tears out of his throat, and this time he cannot hold back the tears.

 

He sinks to his knees at the young princes’ feet and weeps; weeps for Fíli and Kíli and the lives they will never live now, snatched from the world far too early by some cruel fate, and for Thorin, his oldest friend and king, who reclaimed his lost kingdom only to lose everything for it; and for Dís, who waits for news in Ered Luin, not yet aware that the last remaining members of her family have died, still rejoicing over the regaining of the Mountain, but whose joy soon will turn to bitterness and sorrow.

 

He feels Balin’s arms close around him and turns to bury his face in his brother’s chest, clutching his arms tightly, clinging to him; the brave, strong warrior gone for the moment, replaced by a weary dwarf grieving for lost loved ones.

 

~*~*~

 

They look peaceful where they lie in their great stone caskets, one for Thorin and one for Fíli and Kíli, because no one had the heart to separate them in death, after living their whole lives together. Cleaned from blood and grime and dressed in the finest clothes any dwarf could make, and Kíli’s neck held in place with a great silver collar, the illusion of sleep is almost complete.

 

The Arkenstone gleams on Thorin’s breast, tightly clasped between his hands, and he looks every bit the king he never got the chance to be, both regal and wise. Fíli and Kíli, however, are arranged in quite a different manner.

 

The bodies of the young princes are placed on their backs just like their uncle, but their hands are loosely intertwined, and their heads are turned so that they face each other with their foreheads almost touching.

 

Dwalin kneels first at the foot of Thorin’s casket, last of the company to come and pay his final respects, and leans his forehead against the cool stone.

 

“Hail, Thorin, King under the Mountain”, he says quietly. “I’m sorry you don’t get to see Erebor restored, it’s beautiful.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and whispers, “Farewell, old friend!” with a voice thick with emotion. Then he rises and moves to the second casket.

 

The princes look even younger in death than they did in life, and Dwalin bows his head with clenched fists as he curses Mahal for taking them away so young. As he goes down on one knee at the foot of the casket a tear escapes from under his closed eyelid.

 

“I promised your mother I’d keep you safe”, he whispers. “I’m so sorry I failed to honour that oath.” He bites back a sob and rubs his face with a rough hand. “Goodbye, lads, and may Mahal bless your memories.”

 

He rises again and leaves the room without looking back, fighting to get his ragged breath back under control, roughly wiping away the tears that still manage to escape.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are lovely, and reviews are what I live on!


End file.
